


small steps down a steep slope

by skiaphilia



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Other, Pre-Relationship, Unresolved Romantic Tension, how many chimes does it take to communicate clearly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:28:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22408699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skiaphilia/pseuds/skiaphilia
Summary: On a still day during their long trip to September, Cass takes it upon themself to teach Mako a valuable lesson.
Relationships: Cassander Timaeus Berenice/Mako Trig
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18
Collections: Secret Samol 2019





	small steps down a steep slope

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nextyear](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nextyear/gifts).



In the last week or so of their journey to September, Cass finds themself spending more and more time out of the common areas of the Kingdom Come and in Mako’s room in particular. It would have been Orth’s, but Orth gives out bullshit chores, and it would have been Aria’s, but she’s pretty preoccupied with Jacqui, and it would have been AuDy, but, well…it just couldn’t be AuDy. So, though Cass values their peace and quiet, their cabin fever drives them to seek company, and if nothing else the two of them can fuck around in silence, Cass reading, Mako… well, Mako doesn’t do anything in silence, but he can be convinced to sit for an old Hieron episode or two.

This doesn’t appear to be that kind of day, though, judging from the crash behind the door as soon as Cass knocks. It slides open with a quick whirr, and Mako greets them with an easy grin. “Hey!” he chirps, stepping aside (and behind him Cass can see his upended desk chair, which must have caused the noise. “I’m bored. Perfect timing.”

“Uh, yeah, me too,” Cass responds, sliding in past Mako and making a beeline to right the chair, when they see that Mako’s enthusiasm wasn’t the only thing that knocked it over—one of the legs snapped clean. “What the hell did you do to this thing?”

“I was sitting on it like—okay, have you seen this old anime called D—”

“No,” they say flatly.

Mako nods once and hops up on his bed, sitting crouched with his butt not actually touching the mattress, balanced entirely on the balls of his feet. Cass momentarily wants to ask where he picked up holographic socks, but thinks better of it. “Well, like, I was sitting like this, right, and then when I went to get up I did it too fast and knocked it out from under me, and then…” He motions at the wreckage. “Orth’s fault for the cheap shit in here. I thought government jobs were supposed to pay well.”

“Then you haven’t worked for the government,” Cass shoots back. “Should I, uh, stand, then?”

“Depends on your definition of government. And nah, you can sit on the bed,” Mako says, dropping into a more comfortable sitting position and patting the military-standard sheets. When Cass raises an eyebrow, he continues, “hey, Orth made me do all the laundry on the ship this week, these things smell like lavender. C’mon, siddown.” It does look clean enough, despite the relative “post-tornado” status of the rest of his narrow bedroom—electronics scattered across the desk, the busted chair, clothes seemingly arranged by color on the floor...

The bed seems like the only viable option, unless they want to third wheel for Aria. When Cass reluctantly acquiesces, he drapes himself over their lap. They frown, but make no move to stop him—Mako’s not quite as touchy as Aria, but most of what amounts to “personal space” has dissolved on the ship anyway, as tight as it is, so it’s whatever. Or Cass at least tells themself that, as they tentatively settle a hand on the back of Mako’s head. The bed is about as soft as can be expected, which is to say not very, and yeah, the sheets smell like lavender. 

“...Anyway,” they say with a sigh, “what have you been doing all day? You didn’t come out for lunch or dinner.” Not that they’ve been having “family meals,” the past few days, but it’s still rare enough that Mako misses both. “It was mostly just leftovers again, but like, I didn’t even see you make something.”

“I was in here watching TV and stuff,” Mako says. “Plus I had some chips earlier, so I’m fine.” He flings a hand out to indicate a crumpled up bag of Crisp Puffs on the ground next to the trash can. 

Cass winces—they remember seeing it full in the cupboard this morning, and they also remember that Crisp Puffs taste like a fat load of nothing. “Is that all you’ve eaten today?”

Mako seems to consider this for a second, and Cass can almost feel him reliving whatever minute movements he made during the day in his head. “I think? You said I didn’t have dinner, right?”

“Or lunch,” Cass supplies.

“Or lunch,” he says. “Yeah, then, just the chips.”

“Literally how are you alive?”

“Other people feeding me, mostly, so I guess on my charm?” He doesn’t move, but even though Cass can’t see his face they know Mako looks smug as all hell. “I dunno, we got three square meals a day at the Institute, and then mostly if I needed I’d fog something to get food for free, so.”

“Do you, like, even know how to cook for yourself?” Cass removes their hand, scrubs down their face. Sure, they might have been royalty in something rapidly approaching a past life, but cooking was actually a fairly large part of Apostolosian culture, and even on the nights where they were tired or sore they usually managed to toss together some kind of stir fry…

“Nope!” Mako kicks his legs; Cass is reminded of Aria, the way he’s laying, chin in hands and swinging his feet. There’s been a weird bleeding of habits between all of them that makes something in their chest light up warm and fond.

“Not even ramen?” They do not let this fond edge bleed into their carefully exasperated tone.

“Not even ramen,” he confirms. “I used to work in the dining hall at school for, like, a semester, but that was mostly just hitting buttons on a screen, and also I got fired right after ‘cause a friend of mine convinced me to hack the menu and everyone had to eat straight protein cubes for a week before they could get it fixed.”

“Okay, well,” Cass says, pushing gently at Mako’s side to get him to move and steadfastly ignoring his protests, “we’ve got another week at least until we get to September, and I’m running out of archived newsfeeds to scroll,  _ and _ you need to eat, so let’s go fix that. Also, protein cubes?”

“They had ‘em for practical application courses, when older students would have to go on, like, a fake mission, so they acted as rations—” Mako rolls stomach over back and hits the floor then with a shout. “Do we have to do this now, ‘cause I just died, and I’m dead.”

“Yeah, bud, if you’re dead I’ll just do some doctor shit. C’mon.”

* * *

The only evidence that someone’s been in the kitchen other than Cass at all today are an empty box of cereal, two bowls, and two spoons in the sink. Jacqui’s favorite kind, Cass notes absently, wondering when they picked that information up, then a brief pang of anger that she and Aria were apparently allergic to washing their dishes. They’d just grouse them about it later,though, honestly. Cass figures they’ve done enough nagging for one day after this.

“Okay, so…” Unused to having an audience in their new life, Cass has a little trouble meeting Mako’s eyes as they begin their impromptu lecture—they know that he’s probably either looking into the middle distance or snickering at the thought of Professor Cassander, Cooking Maestro. Either way, they’ve committed to the bit now, so there’s no giving up if they want to keep their pride. “I’m gonna give you something kinda easy, because I’m worried you’ll burn down the kitchen otherwise, and if we start a fire in space everyone’s dying for real.”

“Not if we put it out fast enough!” Out of the corner of their eye, Cass can see Mako bounce back on his heels, and yeah, there’s that terrible grin. 

“Let’s just try not to set anything on fire  _ anyway _ ,” they respond, feeling an easy smile rise to their face themself. “This is, uh… it’s the first thing my siblings taught me to cook, and since most of what we have is pasta, it’s convenient. Cacio e pepe.”

“Is that the fancy name for the squid ink stuff?”

“Nah, this is way simpler.” They crank the heat on the burner about halfway and prod Mako into filling a pot with water, adding a dash of salt; when they joke that they don’t actually know if it makes the water boil faster or if it’s just something their siblings told them to get them to season shit, Mako barks out a laugh.

For once, he’s actually fairly quiet as Cass explains the straightforward recipe, and when he does open his mouth, it’s to ask a legitimate question. Cass walks through the ingredients briefly (simple), the process of blooming the pepper (weird, but simple once you figure it out), and somehow still ends up having to explain how a stovetop works to an ostensible genius.

Otherwise, they wait for things to move along in companionable silence. Cass admittedly takes the opportunity to study Mako, who at this point is more absorbed in watching the pasta boil, for some reason. He’s still in what passes for his pajamas on the ship, a beat-to-hell-and-back hoodie and sleep pants (seriously, where did the guy buy his clothes?), hair pinned out of his face in a style both cute and deeply, deeply lazy. (Cass quickly dismisses their choice of adjective.) Even though he’d complained the whole way down the hall about having to Take A Class when he’d been out of school for years, he looks more lively than he has all week, actually engaged and not groggily throwing himself into a seat for some half-cold toast, or holed up alone in his room working on something he’d never finish.

It’s… probably good that Cass checked in on them, they think. The dark circles under his eyes are more prominent than usual, and they don’t wanna think about the last time he actually ate—

“You said I’m supposed to throw a noodle to see if it sticks, right?” Mako’s attention is back on them, now, big eyes and ‘innocent’ smile. 

“At the wall, but—” They watch helplessly as he selects a noodle from the spoon, wiggles it to make sure it’s not  _ hot _ , then lobs it as Cass. It sticks to their shirt, and they leave it there for a long, long moment.

A silent moment.

Then, for the first time in, well, who knows how long, Cass lets out a  _ deep _ laugh. Like, bottom-of-the-belly, noodle-on-their-last-clean-button-down, where-did-this-come-from kind of laughter, and soon Mako’s caught up in it too, and the weird imagined tension in the room pops as they lean their foreheads together and share in it.

Eventually, the pasta’s probably unfortunately past al dente, and the two of them step back a little, realizing the closeness is kind of weird for Just A Friendly Joke. Cass reaches over and shuts the burner off, though their eyes don’t leave Mako—he looks like he wants to say something, like it’s barrelling its way up his stomach and out, so they give him a minute.

“Cass, uh…” He settles his hand on the lip of the stove, then tugs at a hoodie string, then, after a startling amount of deliberation, places it gently on Cass’s bare forearm (they’d rolled up their sleeves when they’d started cooking, and no, their heart didn’t pick up at the touch, shut up). “I know I’m not good at, like—”

“Cooking?” Cass can’t resist the jab. “The pasta’s overdone.”

“Hey, c’mon, first try,” he replies with a weak smile. “No, uh… thanks for showing me, is all? Or, thanks for hanging out, I guess, I dunno.”

“We still haven’t finished…”

“No, I know, but like—hang on, serious second, serious second. I was bored. I’m glad you didn’t let me be bored by myself. I…” He seems to be searching for something in Cass’s face, and they’re not sure whether he finds it, but they curse the fact that they feel their cheeks heat up under the scrutiny.  _ Honestly, Cassander, blushing like—like— _

They swallow, think  _ fuck it,  _ reach up their own hand to touch Mako’s cheek—

“I smell pasta!”

Cass and Mako jerk back from each other as a bright voice chimes from the doorway; Aria, sheepish Jacqui in tow, parades into the kitchen with her usual high spirits. “Cass, are you making dinner?”

“Uh,” they say.

“Uh, Mako says.

Aria studies them both for a minute, brows furrowed. Cass curses under their breath, at bad timing or extremely good timing they’re not sure. Jacqui starts to make a smart comment about a date and Aria elbows her in the stomach with her metal arm; she doubles over, guffawing. “Should we go?”

“No,” the cooks say in unison, then look at each other, then back at Aria. They both snort. Cass gets their bearings first, and adds “We’re making a bunch if you wanna join?”

“Oh, dude, as long as it’s not the usual again I’ll take anything,” Aria chirps, sliding into a beat-up chair at the beat-up kitchen table. “Just didn’t know if you two wanted alone time or not.”

“We’re… fine,” Cass says, and it’s almost impressive the way they coordinate a ‘don’t start’ tone with Aria and a ‘we’ll talk later’ look for Mako. “I was just showing him how to make cacio e pepe so he doesn’t starve.”

“I have plenty of ramen!”

“Eating the noodles raw isn’t a meal,” they reply, and Mako lets out a great big HAH at that, and they feel their stomach slowly return to normal as their turn their attention back to the Secret Art of saving pasta water for a decent sauce.

If the two of them pull their chairs a little closer together than usual, no one comments. Orth joins eventually, and for the first time in a week or two the five of them actually eat dinner together. Mako glows with the compliments for the food, and Cass allows themself a private moment to feel at home.

**Author's Note:**

> HAPPY SECSAM, one time KB tweeted the cutest cacio e pepe recipe thread and i've never been able to get it out of my head, also the title is a los campesinos! pull because of who i am as a person.


End file.
